The sound was unmistakenly Pet Shop Boys, the visuals less so. We were at the ballet once more, although there were no sugar plum fairies or leaping nutcrackers last Thursday night. At Sadler’s Wells for a limited 10-day run, The Most Incredible Thing is based on a three-page Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale of the same name, is scored by Pet Shop Boys and choreographed by Javier de Frutos. The fable is based around a contest to produce ‘the most incredible thing’, with half the kingdom and marriage to the princess to be won.

What made The Most Incredible Thing that little bit more incredible, though, was in part the music – which was at times very modern electronic, and at others, very orchestral – and the film projection interludes, which helped the story along. Graphically styled to be very communist and Eastern European in flavour, the clips punctuated parts of the story where needed and helped break the performance into three acts. The score itself, was, like the ballet, quite dark and sinister in places, and very similar in flavour to the Battleship Potemkin soundtrack the award-winning pop duo made a few years ago.

Like other live show and soundtrack performances we’ve been to, at times you were wondering if the music was in fact being played live – especially the chugging, dramatic and sweeping electronic pieces – but live it was, booming into the undoubtedly modern Sadler’s Wells auditorium. You wouldn’t necessarily have believed there was a cast of only 16 performers, either, as costume changes were very swiftly done, while the 26-piece orchestra played Tennant and Lowe’s score in the pit below. Last night there was even a 20-minute on-stage informal chat with Tennant, Lowe and de Frutos, which comical at times, explained how the three-year creative process had come to fruition.

With a sumptuous dinner at Brown’s Islington beforehand (fish, chips and all the dressings for Nik, and calves’ liver with Sage and Rosemary mash for me), all in all, our Valentine’s Day night out was everything we could have wished for. And today, while the soundtrack plays out of my iMac’s speakers, thoughts turn once again to the ballet. Undoubtedly the most contemporary and modern one we’ve yet been to, The Most Incredible Thing was arguably the best one yet.

It’s true to say that ABBA can sometimes play a big part in our house, and although I consider myself a fairly comprehensive fan, there was still one musical part of the fab four’s story that was missing – the ‘80s musical Chess. With music by Benny and Björn, and lyrics by Tim Rice, it’s often lauded with praise as much as the group’s classic happy and tragic songs. So, on Thursday night, we experienced the missing piece of our ABBA jigsaw at the Cliffs Pavillion, perched high above the sea at Westcliff.

Craig Revel-Horwood of Strictly Come Dancing fame has staged the latest version, and we enjoyed his spin on US and Russian relations, set against a backdrop of two chess matches, entwined with strands of love stories, tales of deception, and of course, those unmistakable and ABBA-like songs. Containing classic numbers such as One Night in Bangkok and I Know Him So Well, the stage was cleverly minimal, with just 25 LED squares which made up a small chess board, along with a projection backdrop.

Almost all of the 30 actors played an instrument or sung, too, and it was refreshing to see the musicians actually play incidental characters and become part of the show, rather than being hidden away in either the wings or pit. The songs and music were performed well, the story well-acted, but the volume was too high at certain intervals, bending and merging the music and voices of the principal actors into one not altogether harmonious whole. All in all, very good though, and a good night out at a fraction of London West End prices.

That didn’t mean it was a cheap night, though. Risky, but the Polo provided transport down to the Essex coast, and probably to be expected, let us down on the way home at Rayleigh. The first signs were a whining fan belt and stuttering lights, and we got as far as the Southend Arterial Road, before the interior lights dimmed proper, the car jumped forward and we rolled to a stop in, thankfully, a layby. One call to the RAC and a 45-minute wait later, we were talking technical matters with the orange-vested repair man, who was convinced he could get us going again.

An hour later we were on our way, though not before Nik had bought a more comprehensive RAC membership (mine only covered me for 10 miles away from home). Turned out that the car’s new alternator that had been fitted the week before was faulty, and so we had to be jump-started by the RAC chap every five miles or so. We came to rest twice more; once in a layby on a roundabout, and again at home, an unceremonious push getting the car on the drive. It took us two hours from the repair man arriving to getting home, and we were exhausted. I don’t know about One Night in Bangkok, we almost had one very tiring night in Southend.

[Image: chess-the-musical.co.uk]

I can’t remember our last day out in London, and now he’s working at home, I bet Nik can recall it even less. Last Friday marked our first outing in the city for a while, and our regular January appointment with Cirque du Soleil. This time around, the show was Totem, a new production. Billed as ‘a fascinating journey into the evolution of mankind’, it was, as is usually the case, a spectacle for the eyes. Centered around a turtle and reed-decorated stage, macro photography projections provided some of the visual feasts, but the acts were again the stars.

From Bars, Hoop Dancers, and Unicycles and Bowls, to Foot Jugglers, Fixed Trapeze Trio, and Roller Skaters, 2011’s touring show acts seemed even more daring and spectacular than previous occasions. We were once again at the Royal Albert Hall, which I still maintain is the best place to experience Cirque du Soleil; it works perfectly in the round, as a traditional circus does. Guests in an Adobe box, I suspect the excellent nibbles and champagne at the magnificent venue in South Kensington no doubt added an extra element of enjoyment to the show.

An attentive breakfast at the Royal Garden Hotel done and dusted, we popped into the Kensington branch of the US Whole Foods Market in the fabulously Art Deco Barker’s Building. Literally a mammoth indoor market of organic and natural, environmentally-friendly food and products, I wasn’t expecting much. The largest of the company’s five stores in London (there’s also one in Glasgow; the first store was opened in Austin, Texas in 1980), there’s a cheese room, handmade chocolate department, 75ft butcher’s counter, restaurant, as well as the more regular fresh fruit and vegetable sections, but on a much larger scale. Well worth a visit.

Our final stop before meeting Pippa for lunch at Covent Garden’s Masala Zone was the Natural History Museum. I can’t believe that in 37 years I’ve never been to the 130 year-old establishment, and there was no way we were going to see all of its 70 million items on display. So, we skirted around the parts that we most wanted to see; the dinosaur gallery, the Large Mammals Hall (featuring the skeleton and infamous life-size model of a blue whale), then stuffed animals in the Green Zone, and the Earth galleries in the Red Zone.

We also explored the Darwin Centre Cocoon, but left feeling rather underwhelmed – all the preserved specimens in jars are housed in the Darwin Centre itself proper, which we couldn’t find on Saturday morning. All in all, an amazing place, and even though filled with faux-posh London parents and kids, it was both an enjoyable and educational way to spend a Saturday morning, contrasting nicely with the very entertaining way we spent Friday night.

We haven’t been to watch a film at the cinema for over two years. Why? We don’t really know, as there have been films we’ve wanted to see after all, so there’s no real reason for our non-attendance. But, Thursday night saw us at the Odeon in Chelmsford to watch the five-star reviewed The King’s Speech.

There with three other members of my Starfish Project stammering recovery group and their other halves, we didn’t really know what to expect from a two-hour film depicting King George VI’s struggle with his stammer, played out against a subtle backdrop of the abdication of his brother Edward VIII (who was to marry Wallis Simpson), the ensuing accelerated ascension to the throne, and the outbreak of World War II.

What we got was certainly deserving of the much-praised five-star reviews in the press; a brilliantly honest, and, at times, emotionally touching account of ‘Bertie’s’ stammer and how he overcame it with Australian ‘speech defect’ specialist Lionel Logue. Tom Hooper’s film starts with George VI reluctantly and uncomfortably addressing the 1925 Empire Exhibition at Wembley Stadium, and chronicles his and Logue’s journey, resulting in his 1939 three-page radio speech declaring the start of World War II.

What’s interesting is the close friendship that the two men developed. Through a mixture of honesty and trust (much like that of a speech therapist and a patient), the viewer sees them go through ups and downs, and scenes both hilarious and hysterical, all accurate portrayals of how nearly all stammerers feel during the varying degrees of their recovery.

A stellar cast certainly helps the film tells its story. Colin Firth is breathtakingly accurate in his portrayal of ‘Bertie’, while Geoffrey Rush plays the part of the understanding Logue brilliantly. Helena Bonham-Carter is the ever-supportive Duchess of York (later the Queen Mother), while a supporting cast of Guy Pearce (Edward VIII), Michael Gambon (George V) and Timothy Spall (Winston Churchill) make sure that all the pivotal characters play their part.

With beautiful cinematography depicting a 1930s London, the film’s script was reportedly updated after the discovery of some of Logue’s original notes. Years in the making due to the late Queen Mother’s apprehension about its release, it’s one of the best films I think I’ve ever seen. And while that may in part be down to personal reasons, The King’s Speech shouldn’t be overlooked. To enchant an audience with what could be a particularly difficult or dry subject for two hours is something both truly special and inspirational.

Happy Christmas! I’d like to extend season’s greetings to all the loyal readers of goodrichard.com and thank you for your ongoing support. I hope you have both a fun-filled and restful festive break as well as a healthy and prosperous 2011.

It’s not often we stay over at mum’s but this weekend we did just that. It’s not often we go to the ballet either; yesterday’s evening at the Theatre Royal in Norwich was the second time in six months – we hadn’t even watched one before May’s night in London at the Royal Opera House. But, to get us in the mood for Christmas (in early November), mum and Bart invited us to a performance of one of their favourites, The Nutcracker, performed by Northern Ballet.

Basically the story of a little girl whose Nutcracker doll comes to life (and conveniently turns into a Prince), the tale tells of their adventures in icy, wintry lands where snowflakes and Sugar Plum Fairies dance and toys come to life. Performed to Tchaikovsky’s specially-written score, you know more musical pieces from it than you think you do, and as the Northern Ballet Sinfonia were under the stage in Norwich, you forgot you were actually hearing the music played live.

Northern Ballet’s performance of the traditional Christmas ballet was a blaze of colour, and the Theatre Royal lent itself well to such a showing. The costumes were lavish, the backdrops and set pieces charming, and the production well-paced. But, we’ve come to realise that the second half of any ballet is really just to let the prima ballerina have her (more than one) chance in the spotlight, pirouetting time after time, exiting and then entering the stage again and again, adding nothing to the story at all. Still enjoyable, though.

This morning, we headed over to Bart’s apartment on the Benacre Estate for an egg and muffin breakfast. We provided the eggs, while mum and Bart gave us company and post-eating, we all went for a walk through the leafy lanes and sheep-filled fields that make up the 6700-acre Suffolk estate. The 18th century-style rebuilt Benacre Hall stands as the imposing centrepiece of the estate, while surrounding stables and ex-groom houses lend themselves as perfect, getaway-from-it-all apartments in lavish and quiet grounds.

A traditional mixed farming estate situated on the Suffolk Heritage Coast between Lowestoft and Southwold, the majority of the Bencare Estate lies within an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, and has just over 3 miles of eastern coastline. It’s a haven for wildlife, and during our brief visit, we not only saw endless sheep and pheasants, but also a herd of jumping Fallow Deer, along with a solitary Muntjac. You wouldn’t believe that you can see that much wildlife literally a stone’s throw from the main A12 Lowestoft to London trunk road, but for part-time townies like us, it helped make the weekend.

Halloween weekend, and the ESSEXstreetdiversions. Why this weekend every year I’m not sure (nor why it’s written like that), but the town centre of Chelmsford becomes an almost magical world where strange creatures and beings parade up and down pathways between the shops, bemusing those passing by and those out for a bargain or two. The ‘free festival of international outdoor performance’ brought artists from all over the globe. The Coneheads are a mainstay of the event and they returned again this year, along with a fire-breathing mechanical horse, a musical band of insects and a water-squirting, remote control wheelie bin among others. Darkness saw a spectacular fireball show in Bell Meadow bringing the curtain down on the event; one which we’ll certainly try to catch again next year.

Celebrating its 60th anniversary, long-running BBC Radio 4 drama series The Archers has always had its fair share of lovers and dislikers, and this article from The Guardian‘s website, highlights one man’s disdain for the ‘soap’. It’s attracted lots of comments, too, fairly evenly split between the fans and the dissenters. But my favourite has to be a response to another poster’s: ‘Ruth Archer is another matter entirely, I could listen to her voice for days.’ in return, poster peter75 says (in a moment of genuis): ‘OOOOOOOOOOOOH NOOOOOOOOOOOO.’ Which as any fan would tell you, is Ruth’s Geordie long hand for something going wrong. Brilliant. He should win a slap-up meal at The Bull.

We didn’t know what to expect, but we did know it would be a nice night out, and so Saturday evening proved. The Royal Opera House in London was the host for the evening, while Don Quixote was the ballet performance that played out on the Covent Garden stage. Danced by the Bolshoi company, if Geoff hadn’t explained the – simple yet strangely complicated – love story of Kitri and Basil and Kitri’s other potential suitors, then I’m not sure Nik and I would have followed quite what was going on.

We would still have enjoyed the dancing, though. You don’t need a story to be in watch in amazement and wonder at the endless pirouettes, leaping and choreographed movements going on under the red velvet curtains. The costumes and dancing were spectacular, and the three acts and two intervals whizzed by. We were up in the Amphitheatre’s fourth-floor tiered seats mixing it with the arty, posh types and opera buffs, and arguably got a bigger sense of grandeur than those sitting on the floors below.

None of the 19th century spectacle of the Royal Opera House has been lost at all in the most recent renovations at the end of the 20th century, and it really is a place to visit should you get the opportunity. It certainly made up for the Paris ballet miss (we had aimed to go to a performance at the Palais Garnier earlier in the year but were unable to get tickets), and seems to be a never-ending maze of corridors, halls, and bars. The terrace balcony gives the best view of the Covent Garden Piazza, too.

As cultural juxtapositions go, there can’t be many like this one. At opposite ends of the London cultural spectrum, we watched Cirque du Soleil at the Royal Albert Hall on Friday night, and visited the ABBA World exhibition at Earl’s Court on Saturday morning. Both full of brightly-coloured costumes, stage acts and singing, only one had acrobatics of the high-wire kind. The other boasted voice acrobatics that have become known the world over as the sound of the Swedish supergroup.

If you don’t know the ABBA story, you’re either very young or have had your head buried in the proverbial sand for the best part of the last four decades. There haven’t been many Eurovision winners that have gone on to mega-stardom and have a legacy both as rich and recognisable as Agnetha’s, Bjorn’s Benny’s and Anni-Frid’s. And it’s just as well it’s a legacy worth celebrating, as, unsurprisingly, that’s what ABBA World is all about. Premiering in the UK, the movable exhibition is, just like the band did, going on a global tour and will end up in Sweden as a more permanent reminder of the Swedish super group. But we got it first.

My fear was that it would be a tacky, glittery and money, money, money-making memorabilia fest, taking away the credit that the post-ABBA Gold and Mamma Mia! years have built up. Yes, there is a fair bit of, let’s call it fun, but the one thing the exhibition does do is remind you of how big the four Swedes were. Led down the stairs in what appears to be Earl’s Court’s basement, 25 themed ‘rooms’ let you enjoy the ABBA story, told by new video reminiscences (even by the ever-elusive Agnetha), endless numbers of gold discs and music industry awards, props, puppets and scene set-ups.

Interactive exhibits lets the visitor test their ABBA knowledge (I was quite good on the ‘Fan’ questions but rubbish on the ‘Fanatic’ ones), mix an ABBA track (compared the original, I was 86% correct and quite pleased), appear in an ABBA video and appear with 3D cartoon-like holograms of their idols. Unfortunate and incorrect Swedish to English translations on the exhibit information panels aside, ABBA World is largely well-done and a diverting and interesting three hours. And even I, an ABBA loyalist, learned new things about the other fab four.

Don’t believe all what you see, though; the helicopter in the ‘Arrival’ section (above) isn’t the one that actually appeared in the stunning 1976 Arrival album cover. But, disappointment aside, that didn’t stop me and several others sitting in it…